When the theft of politically sensitive documents by his wife's old boyfriend causes the marriage to break-up, a poor but indolent British aristocrat fights to get his wife back by proving that he can work for a living.

Lazybones, a typical depression-era comedy of impoverished aristocracy, was
widely dismissed when first released. The Monthly Film Bulletin complained that
"such an incredible story needs more pace and a lighter touch all round", while
Kine Weekly wittily commented that "the producer makes the common mistake of
thinking that an Englishman's home is a castle." Michael Powell wasn't even credited as
the director by Picturegoer, which instead mistakenly gave the honour to Julius
Hagen, the film's producer. More recent assessments have not been much kinder.
Jeffrey Richards damningly called it "just the sort of film that got the British
cinema a bad name", while Raymond Durgnat called it the "runt of the litter",
pointing out that it "abounds in continuity bloopers".

Looking at Lazybones today, it is worth noting that Powell had to shoot most
of the film in 13 nights: common practice at Hagen's studio, which operated 24
hours a day. The schedule was necessitated by the fact that the film's two
stars, Ian Hunter and Claire Luce, were appearing in West End plays at the same
time.

There is some gold to be mined in this occasionally amiable comedy however,
such as Powell's long and ambitious tracking shot that crosses a courtyard and
then moves through two separate rooms before reaching its destination; a
hilarious cameo by Miles Malleson, in which he is a witness to a wedding, all
the time trying to talk the couple out of it; and, for today's audiences, there
is the amusing line, "it's about time there was a channel tunnel!"

The film's generally stage-bound nature does, unfortunately, weaken the comic
potential of its outrageous conclusion - in which Hunter turns his palatial
abode into a recreation home for the wealthy by giving them servile jobs - which
mostly occurs offstage and is otherwise dealt with extremely cursorily. In its
dottily Marxist presentation of the rich and powerful succumbing to a fantasy of
poverty and lowly disenfranchisement, it anticipates the Hollywood classic My
Man Godfrey (US, 1936) and even such grisly modern-day TV spectacles as I'm a
Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here (ITV, 2002-).